


a lullaby for the dark

by monstermash



Series: memento mori (remember, you will die) [14]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Supernatural Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: Without saying a word to her, Garrett carries the crate over to the bar, humming that damn song and the reality of the situation hits her.A lullaby for the dark and Garrett’s part of the dark now.But so is Mary May because she made the deal.





	a lullaby for the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [devil's spoke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654562) by [spacedbabaylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedbabaylan/pseuds/spacedbabaylan). 



> i've been meaning to write this for a while now, but haven't had the chance to get around to it until now. 
> 
> really inspired by this [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654562) (seriously, go read it, it's amazing) and honestly i just really love the idea of Mary May taking Direct Action™ and getting into supernatural shenanigans. also please take note that a lot of the supernatural elements in this fic are very, _very_ loosely based of off supernatural myths and the like; a lot of it is just artistic license (i guess??)

A lullaby for the dark.

That’s what she’s heard it be called anyway, a euphemism for making deals with beings that existed in between.

 _Be patient,_ Whitehorse had told her.

But she’d been to one funeral too many ever since those cultists moved into the hills of Hope County, lost one too many people she loves and cares about.

_Be patient._

_Fuck. That._

She’s got fire in her eye and rage burning away behind her ribs, sick and tired of waiting.

The Seeds need to _pay_ for what they’ve done, they need to face the consequences and they need to face them _now._

So really, it was only a matter of time before she followed the legends and myths she’s heard all her life.

\---

Mary May finds herself at a crossroads near Dead Man’s River, along the dirt back roads of Holland Valley; there’s a shovel in the trunk of her car, a knife no longer than her palm in her pocket, a rosary wrapped around her wrist, and a fistful of salt held in her hand. No matter how many local myths she knows, they all have conflicting information save for three things: it has to be a full moon, it has to be after midnight, and there must be a song, a lullaby.

A lullaby for the dark.

Wary eyes scan the tree line and the open field as she turns in a slow circle, humming an old family lullaby, the words having been forgotten generations ago.

But the tune… the tune is remembered.

A soft breeze blows, the leaves whispering in time as the shadows flicker and grow unnaturally long.

Mary May stops when her eyes catch on a figure that hadn’t been there before; all she can see is that it looks vaguely like a person, but it’s nothing more than a shadow without a body. There’s… dear _god,_ there’s too many teeth. It makes the hair on her arms stand on end.

She can hear it breathing, but it’d be more accurate to say that it’s more like air rattling through bone; she _knows_ it doesn’t breathe, that it can only imitate the motion. If it’s to unnerve or to put people at ease, Mary May can’t tell. It unnerves the hell out of her though, enough to make her want to run, but she knows better than to turn her back on it.

The figure cocks its head at her, teeth parting to violently clack together in a question, a chittering sound that scrapes against her ears.

“I’ve come to make a deal,” Mary May says, surprised at how even her voice sounds despite the instinctual fear this creature inspires. “Will you hear my plea?”

Another clack of too many teeth, its jaw unhinging at odd angles.

“Speak, child,” it hisses, teeth grinding together as it speaks, a gasping, watery quality to its voice, as if it is always drowning. “What is it you seek?”

 _Be patient,_ the Sheriff’s voice warns in her mind. She ignores it.

“Justice,” Mary May says, a hard glint in her eye.

“Justice from a crossroads demon,” it chuckles. “And who shall be brought to justice?”

“The Seeds. They’ve killed my family and many others, tortured and coerced even more.”

It hums and gestures toward her car. “You’ve brought a shovel?”

She nods. “Recently used to bury the dead.”

Teeth clack together and stretch into a jagged grin. “Get it.”

Backing up without turning her back to it, Mary May gets the shovel from the trunk, fresh grave dirt caking the blade. When she returns, she stops a few steps away from it, trying and failing to ignore how its joints jump and bend in unnatural directions. Mary May pulls out the knife from her pocket and holds it against her palm.

 _Be patient,_ a final plea from her conscience in the form of Whitehorse’s voice, and again she ignores it and presses the knife’s edge into her flesh.

With her cut palm, she takes hold of the shovel and holds it out toward the creature.

“I give my blood and fresh grave dirt to make the deal; for justice, what is your price?”

It reaches out with one void dark hand, clawed fingers folding over Mary May’s hand.

“I accept your deal, child.” There’s an oppressive weight that settles on her shoulders and the shadows stretch even further, crawling through the dirt and the moon is too bright because from this close up she can see that it actually does have something that resembles eyes; eyes as dark as the rest of it, blending in too well, but she can see them shine in the moonlight. The more its grin stretches the more teeth it reveals. “The price will come after justice has been dealt.”

Mary May doesn’t even get the chance to protest because then it pops out of existence, along with the shovel, and the shadows shrink back into something normal.

But she can still hear it.

Humming a lullaby for the dark.

\---

Nothing happens.

Nothing happens for _weeks._

It gets to the point where Mary May isn’t sure if she dreamed up the deal at the crossroads or not, but she _knows_ she did because of the gash on her palm that’s been slowly healing.

But nothing has happened and everyday more and more people go missing; being converted either willingly or through force.

It gets to the point where a Marshal gets called in, and Whitehorse, Hudson, Pratt, and another Deputy go to the cult’s main compound. Mary May wonders if this is due to the crossroads demon or if this was due to the Sheriff.

It turns out to be a mix of both.

A few weeks after the failed arrest attempt John Seed sends Peggies to take Falls End, and they nearly succeed, but the one people have been talking about on the radio – only known as the Deputy – swoops in with Boshaw and Boomer and repels the cultists, makes them retreat with their tails between their legs.

Of course she doesn’t get a good look at the Deputy until later in the bar.

She’s bringing down her emergency stash of alcohol and she hears Jerome talking to someone and he sounds like he knows the person, this Deputy, so there’s a good chance she knows the Deputy too.

“A little help?” she grunts.

“Are you trying to break your neck?” Jerome asks as he takes a crate from her.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time…”

The weight is a little more bearable now and she continues going down the steps until she sees a set of hands grabbing a crate and when her view is no longer obstructed, she nearly drops the remaining crate in her hands.

Standing before her is Deputy Garrett Rook, her best friend and unofficially adopted brother.

Who has been _dead_ for nearly three _years._

Garrett looks at her with concern as she feels herself pale and she wants to scream, because he’s supposed to be dead, killed by the cult, yet here he is standing right in front of her.

She knows who did this, how this is even possible, because she can smell the grave dirt on him and she can hear that awful humming that grates against her ears and the cut on her hand pulses with a heartbeat that is not her own.

And Garrett looks at her with dawning realization and Mary May can’t tell if it’s really him or if it’s that creature wearing his skin, because her head is spinning and Garrett smells of death and the grave and the lullaby haunts her.

Whether or not it really is him or something wearing his skin, he knows.

He _knows_ she made a deal.

Without saying a word to her, Garrett carries the crate over to the bar, humming that damn song and the reality of the situation hits her.

A lullaby for the dark and Garrett’s part of the dark now.

But so is Mary May because she made the deal.


End file.
